


How could you cry for me?

by trumancapoot



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trumancapoot/pseuds/trumancapoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drummer had always accepted his best friends drinking problem, and in return, Matty never questioned why it was that George got high so often. It had been a silent forbearance between the two of them, and it drove Matty fucking insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How could you cry for me?

// _when i am sad, i'm **sad**_ //

Being on tour, especially as it was rolling closer to the end of the stretch of the shows, was undeniably stressful, though it seemed the case of homesickness always hit Matty worst than it did anyone else. Weeks could go by where he didn't feel so numb - he could get by without wishing for his writers block to end, he wouldn't have to drown himself to sleep in a bottle of red wine, and the sharp tip of the pen he failed never hit his thighs. Nobody talked about the red marks across Matty's thighs - nobody wanted to bring up that maybe, more than likely, it wasn't just homesickness. Though as he sat on the couch on the bus with paper spread around his feet, and no sound except for his heartbeat and a tap somewhere tripping, it was finally clear to Matty that his band had caught on to his ways and were trying, not too subtly, to stay at peace to try and help him keep his mind at bay. It angered him more than anything, really. He didn't want any of the pity or sympathy they had for home - Matty wanted loud, overbearing music to block out his thoughts. He wanted Ross to start an argument with him when he didn't pick up his dirty clothes from the night before. Recently, all he had been getting was soft smiles and the occasional nod from the father figure of the bus towards his laundry, to which he'd reply with a scowl and pick them up only to leave them in Ross' bunk. His actions were never returned, though - none of them ever complained. The bus remained silent, and Matty kept still in his almost inanimate stance, wondering about whether there was a bottle of wine left, when the door of the bus crashed open and hushed curses were heard from outside.

"What the fuck did we talk about, Hann? I told you to be fucking quiet, twat."

The words rang in his ears, and it took Matty a minute to acknowledge that it was their guitarist who had opened, slammed the door, and he sat up slightly in the anticipation that finally an argument would be sparked. His hopes seemed to have been led on, though, because seconds later his gaze fell onto the tall blonde whom had just stepped onto the bus and walked through without even looking back. Matty's gaze flickered in between each of his bandmates; Hann who had an apologetic expression painted across his face; Ross, who had overfilled bags of shopping in the both of his hands; John, as always, managed to sneak by without a word, and then George. The drummer had returned to the room with his red rimmed eyes, black pupils exploded out of their usual depths. His usual tough expression had an undefined softness in that moment as he rubbed his previously clenched jaw, probably because when he did look at Matty, he was sitting in the exact same position as he had been two hours ago when he had informed him that they were going shopping, and if there was anything he wanted, he should let them know now. Matty was always fascinated by George - but he forced himself to look away before he got distracted. He hated that look more than anything.

Since the beginning when Matty started to lose sense of himself every so often, things between George and himself were very unsettled, but the two never sat down to talk about it, not properly. The drummer had always accepted his best friends drinking problem, and in return, Matty never questioned why it was that George got high so often. It had been a silent forbearance between the two of them, and it drove Matty fucking insane. How didn't their friendship cease to exist if neither of them were going to talk about anything?  Night after night, Matty would bring back a girl or two, they'd fuck for a bit, his lover of the hour would leave the bus with lipstick smeared across her cheeks after he promised he'd call, and an hour later he would have no reason to remember her name while he sat quietly beside George with late night TV sounding softly in the background until he fell asleep - then each morning, he woke up tucked beneath layers of blankets back in his bunk. The drummer never spoke about their routine or the girls - sometimes, he'd bring back one himself, and though he hated to admit it, those were Matty's worst nights. George treated these girls with respect and affection; he would let them stay the night, make them breakfast in the morning, then give them a text later to make sure they got home alright. To Matty, they were nothing more than a one night stand, he didn't have to remember anything because it was a mutual agreement, and he was confused as to why it was different for George - then again, it wasn't his best friend who was cheating on anyone.

"You alright?"

That familiar, smooth voice broke through Matty's train of thought, and after a moment of hesitation he reluctantly allowed his gaze to fall right back into George's where their eyes met. The younger males features had shifted into a sadder, more concerned look, and although he didn't understand why it had happened it just infuriated Matty more. Scowling, he brought his hand up to tug his fingers through the tangled curls that bounced off his scalp, "I'm fucking fine, why?" It wasn't that he meant to be rude - but that look George would give him made him feel pathetic, hopeless even, mostly because he didn't know how to reassure the younger that he didn't have to worry. He knew that his best friend meant well, but Matty already felt bad that he had to put the entire band through his shit and there was nothing he could do except wait it out, exist in that bitter state of mind until the anesthesia wore off and he could return back into himself. Although he looked away, it wasn't fast enough to avoid the second pained look that took over George's face, which he immediately pulled back into his tough expression, shrugged, and walked off. The drummer brought a girl back that night.

// _but when i'm happy, oh god, i am **happy**_ //

It got to midday the next day that Matty finally accepted that he shouldn't have snapped at the drummer the way he did when his best friend had just wanted to help, because it had been hours and they still hadn't said a word to each other. None of George's stupid pep talks over the breakfast table, none of the small smiles when he didn't know what to say but wanted to show his support, the light nudges to break Matty out of a trance when they were talking about the show that night. Really, the whole situation was nonsensical to him, and though he knew he that it would have been far easier to apologise, there was nothing he wanted to do more to kick a hole through George's drum kit in spite of the blondes silence, to get some sort of reaction out of him. After a few hopeless attempts of getting George to speak up, shoving into him when they walked past each other and occasionally coming right out and saying hi, Matty finally gave up and indulged himself into a disappointed sulk for the rest of the afternoon. He persisted with his childish behaviour until there was a knock at the door - the first time anyone on the bus properly began to speak up. George, who had answered the door, came back walking through with a fiery expression and stone cold blank eyes. It triggered a slight, confused frown for Matty, and he was finally about to stand up and say something until he recognised the small girl with vigorous blonde curls that he was distracted by.

Gemma.

"Considering it has been at least 4 months since we've seen each other, I thought you'd be more excited to see your girlfriend, Matty." Gemma greeted in her distasteful tone - making Matty aware that his face still had that frown George had caused, and he couldn't do much more than pull her into a hug in shock, "Is it just me, or does everyone on this bus look like they've seen a ghost?" Feeling the girls warm breath touch the side of his neck caused Matty to curl his fingers tighter into the soft material of her jumper, keeping her there for a minute, craving that kind of comfort from someone. When he did pull back, though, and he glanced at his band, they were all staring in mock horror; the knowledge of his hookups this tour on the tip of their tongues. He had been trying to avoid it, but to his disappointment the brunette's light hues soon fell onto George, who, for the first time that day, returned the eye contact. It was an almost taunting look, for the first time in hours George finally had emotion showing, and it was a stupid fucking smirk. Twat. "C'mon, Gem. Looks like none of them are wanting to say hi, no fun hanging around with a bunch of plonkers like this lot." Matty pulled his glare back away from George who was still looking at him through narrowed eyes, and he reached down to take his girlfriends hand to lead her off of the bus again, "Make sure you have condoms, don't wanna be catching anything you don't want." The vocalist could feel Gemma's eyes burning into him as he stopped in his tracks when he heard the snarky comment from the drummer, and it took everything in him to not reciprocate. Fuck George. It just wasn't worth it.

They slept together in a crummy motel room where the walls smelt like mold and the smoke running off their cigarettes, and sheets left red scratches on their skin. Gemma had looked at the scars on his thighs in disgust, and Matty felt his conscious fade. Once they had finished, they lay beside each other in silence and shared a previously rolled blunt. It wasn't as if they stuck around for long. Matty told her that he thought it was best they they broke up, provoking an argument between them. It was the first time he had felt alive in days, and later he felt guilty for feeling no remorse towards what happened. Gemma stole his jeans, called him disgusting and stormed out following a long rant of cursing and hateful slurs. Matty hadn't even really loved her that much, but some of her comments struck him right where it hurt. Nobody questioned why he came back onto the bus without his jeans.

The show they played that night when terribly. Matty, in advance, had downed two straight bottles of the red wine he hid under his bunk, cursing out to anyone when they asked if he was alright. The entire night, he was unable to keep himself from crying - and even then George still wasn't fucking talking to him. Matty knew he had commitments, but there was nothing he wanted more than to be away from all of this tonight, have a break that he so badly needed, crawl away and sink into his jumbled headspace. The shouting from the crowd was louder than usual, the beat of a song rang in his ears long after they had stopped playing it, and the ache in his heart made Matty sure that he was going to die. "Thank... thank you guys, for coming out. We, I, we love you." Matty's words slurred out in a sad manner after the show, crouching on the floor as if to gain his balance, but when there was no sign of him moving a few people started to shout out questions he couldn't quite comprehend, something about if he was okay. Out of nowhere, when Matty had just begun to watch the room spin, he felt strong arms snaking around him, triggering an inner state of fear - god, no, he couldn't lose the game tonight, he wasn't going to die in front of people who returned the love he had, "Stop thrashing, Matty, fuck. It's just me, come on. Lets get you out of here." George. He knew that firm, yet weirdly endearing voice from a mile away. It wasn't fair... how dare the drummer ignore him a day and only start paying attention in the middle of a fucking breakdown? He wanted to fight, he wanted to kick George away from him and lay on the floor to burn under the strobe lighting. There wasn't a point to arguing with the younger, though - he was tired, he wanted to sleep - and soon enough the blonde had lifted him off the floor and practically carried him away from the stage. 

George barely left his side that night, only moving away when he needed to speak to someone - though the conversations were hushed, he knew how his breakdown had gone viral within the fandom - or to get him a water bottle, and he felt the anger he had been grinding his teeth over coming to a cooling point. Even though there was still not much talking between them - the happenings of earlier that evening just hadn't been brought up, it was as if he was avoiding the topic of Gemma completely - Matty knew that, in his own way, George was caring for him. A couple of hours later, when Ross had finally gone to sleep after asking if they would both be alright for the rest of the night for what felt like the fiftieth time, Matty lay his head down on the drummer's lap and it felt natural when he felt broad fingers run through his tousled hair, untangling the knots. There was a comfortable silence between them, and though he feared do anything in case of ruining the moment, Matty handed the blonde his hairbrush with an expecting look and to his surprised, George began to brush it through his brunette curls without a question. They both fell asleep there that night.

// there's just no place **in-between** for us to meet //

The last show of the tour was the best that the band had played in a while - for the first time in the past year or so of touring, Matty had decided not to drink before or during the set, but one look into George's brown eyes was enough to let him that the younger hadn't joined the sobriety train with him. The past few days, he had grown used to the others silence, and drowned any worries he had towards the drummer under the moans of the girls he brought to bed with him. That day was different, though, George hadn't spoken once - not even in passing to their drum tech, which he always found time to do during sound check, but today he had made an appearance then shuffled away again. What the fuck was up with him? He hadn't even looked up when Matty stood and watched him as he sang. After Matty had ended the show with a smile on his face and his eye halfheartedly set on a girl that he wanted to bring back with him, he turned around to hopefully share a smile with George, but was greeted with their banner and an empty seat behind the drums. He quickly looked to Hann, who replied with a shrug and a hand gesture towards side stage, to which Matty mouthed a thank you and ignored the concerned expression on the bassists face as he rushed out to find George - maybe he wasn't the only one worried about his best friend after all. It was seconds later that he caught sight of George's back, his eyes flickering over his muscles before he realised what he was doing, "George! George? Hey, George, fucking wait, arsehole." Matty sped his pace and curled his fingers around the younger males arm to stop him from moving any further, and it was only then that he noticed that the red rims that circled his eyes were much more prominent tonight, "What's wrong?" The brunette mumbled, biting back the frown that ached to break out from his cheeks.

"What? I'm fine. Are you alright? I... I heard about Gemma and, uh, sorry mate." It almost made Matty laughed that George had tried to turn the conversation away from himself in a pathetic attempt to avoid any questions that were going to be asked. George was always so fucking annoying when it came to asking if Matty was alright, and now it was time for him to finally open up and talk about what was going on in his mind, rather than it being vice versa for once, "Shut the hell up, George. Why are your eyes so red? You tired?" The vocalist felt bad for a second, scared that it could have been the girls he brought back that kept George awake at night... but it would've been a lie if Matty said he wasn't purposely loud at times to grab George's attention. He was half expecting to have the subject changed again, or for George to curse him out, but he wasn't ready for the younger to start walking off again, "George? What the hell? Get your fucking arse back here." As he stood in front of the drummer to stop him from moving, properly looking over George's face, he hadn't been anticipating the need to lean on his toes and press their lips together. George didn't kiss back for a moment, seeming to hesitate, but when he did Matty could feel the burn of the whiskey from the blondes tongue and it made him realise what had just happened, "Fucking hell, George." Matty mumbled as he pulled back, his eyebrows pulled in furiously, "How much have you had to drink?" He watched as shock horror drew across George's face, until he just dropped the look all together, "Fuck you, Matty."

Neither of them said goodbye at the airport the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very rough, as I'm trying to get back into writing again. I don't know how long this is going to end up being, but I hit a rock of inspiration (aka, heard a song that gave me an idea) and I guess I'm just going to see how it goes. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧


End file.
